Autobiographical Novels & Stories

My fiancée and my best friend were the top partners at a multi-million-dollar law firm, while I was just the guy handling the administrative work. In the courtroom, they were in perfect sync, trading fierce legal arguments and sharing an effortless dynamic. In their personal lives, they casually flirted through law jokes that only the two of them understood. I could never get a word in, edge-wise. Every time they laughed, I offered a painfully awkward smile. Even at my mother's funeral, nothing changed. They chatted merrily in front of her coffin, eventually breaking into audible laughter. “Clara, can you greet the guests?” I called out to her. I was the only child in the family, and a

The person in this picture looks like the younger version of Patricia. Binasa niya ang autobiography ng babae. Her name is Patricia Gabrielle, seventeen years old born in June 14, 1903. All her personal information are written in this piece of paper. Where she was born, her parent's name, her older sister's name, her favorites, her favored animals, the name of her pets and such. This autobiography is so detailed that Asta thinks the teenager itself wrote this. "Paano mo nakuha ang autobiography niya?" Tanong niya sa investigator.

That was all I cared about—me. “Challenge accepted.” I giggled, my head slowly tilting as I felt the booze kicking in. “Keep it real,” he shrugged. “I’m not a writer; I don’t have time to craft stories. My mom was a whore, literally. I was just one of those crazy-ass kids who didn’t wanna get aborted, so she kept me.” I glanced at him as I brought the cup's rim to my lips while he listened intently. I took a sip, continuing my “autobiography.” “I never met my dad, so I never got to ask him why he didn’t use protection. Anyway, during my sophomore year of high school, my mom's boyfriend took advantage of me. I got pregnant, and my mom kicked me out when the bitch heard that the baby daddy was

" I took a deep breath and heaved a sigh. He was looking at me with some kind of resolution in his eyes; like he was hell bent on convincing me yet pissed off at the same time that I was not buying it. He clenched and unclenched his jaws and did the same for this fists to as he groped the steering wheel in one hand. "You don't have to give your self that kind of stupid storyline. You can simply write your autobiography. How about your legs? Huh? Write about them. Can't you? I've known you for a while now and I know you are not shy or insecure about sharing your story because you have bene doing just that on your Instagram posts for a while. You can simply just write about your legs and inspi

In those days of quiet moments, I could hear sounds that I can't interpret. The worry of how my stay will linger was my real concern, the person I thought i was, wanted to break free. "What am I? Where am I? Where did I come from? How was I formed? These are the few of the countless questions that were weaved within the fabrics of my mind. Somehow I started noticing that some of the occurrences I felt happened by routine: the descending liquids and solid substances; the vibration that surged in descending order toward the location where I was enclosed; the frequent movement of the vessel carrying me.

He asked, his interest showed in his voice. "No clue. I know that's me," I answered as I pointed at the 8 year old me in the picture, "But as for everyone else I have no clue. I was adopted so I have no one to ask about my real parents and I dont remember anything before age 8. Apparently due to a major car accident I was in." I explained further shrugging my shoulders not knowing alot. "You never asked the family you have now?" He asked me, turning his gaze to me.

I remembered that I also needed to speak to dad and stop him from talking about me with Nick. I prefer being a private person and I have closed off a lot of things with good reason. I can’t relate to people because of the void I have. I always feel out of place when people share their past. I can only talk about the life I had after the accident and it’s not pleasant because it took time for me to adjust. I have tried thinking harder like what people assume and it ends up giving me a migraine. I want to remember but the pieces never fall in place. At this point, I will need a miracle to remember. *****

For the first time, Cathedra had someone who didn't cringe every time she opened her mouth to speak. So this is what having a friend feels like, huh? Cathedra thought to herself. One lunch break, while waiting for Diane underneath the tree, Cathedra was scribbling a draft of her first novel in her notebook. The novel contained the scenes she saw in the storybook, back in her kindergarten days. Since that day at kindergarten, she didn't tell anyone what she saw in the storybooks anymore. The thought of seeing things that other people couldn't still terrified her but she tried hard not to think about it by avoiding any book she can see other than school books and textbooks.